


Mistakes Were Made

by ShadowMeld



Series: The Witcher ABO [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Dirty Talk, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Knotting, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowMeld/pseuds/ShadowMeld
Summary: “What do you mean he’s going into rut?”  Jaskier knew the shock was plain on his face as he stared between his mate’s grim features and the distinctly amused countenance of the sorceress across from them.  “He’s… how can that even happen?”Yennefer just shrugged her elegant shoulders, a smile still lingering on her lips as she stared right back at him.  “I believe you may only have yourself to blame for that one, Jaskier.  It’s never happened before, so I can only presume it is a delightful little side effect of our friend here mating with a fertile human omega.  Congratulations on being a biological catalyst stronger than any witcher’s mutagen to date.  You must be very proud..."***Also known as Geralt is a tremendous grump about going into rut, but fortunately Jaskier is there and everything works out in the end.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher ABO [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607134
Comments: 49
Kudos: 2002
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the wait folks, but I really appreciate you! I wanted to make sure the first part was up by V-Day, so it's unfortunately I'm breaking it up into two parts. Anyway, here's some Geralt in rut as a treat.

“What do you mean he’s going into rut?” Jaskier knew the shock was plain on his face as he stared between his mate’s grim features and the distinctly amused countenance of the sorceress across from them. “He’s… how can that even happen?”

Yennefer just shrugged her elegant shoulders, a smile still lingering on her lips as she stared right back at him. “I believe you may only have yourself to blame for that one, Jaskier. It’s never happened before, so I can only presume it is a delightful little side effect of our friend here mating with a fertile human omega. Congratulations on being a biological catalyst stronger than any witcher’s mutagen to date. You must be very proud. Though it does lead one to wonder just what other consequences there might be...”

Jaskier shot her a look, not too pleased with her tone, though at the very least a smug sorceress was generally a helpful one. Considering they were in the middle of a situation totally without precedent he wasn’t about to turn down any assistance, snarky though it might be.

They’d originally come to Yennefer because Geralt had thought that he’d been cursed. No one had expected that of all the possible explanations for his strange behavior it could be something to simple as Geralt going into rut. For any other alpha it might have come to mind, but it was well known that witchers didn’t have a cycle. Their mutations rendered them infertile and nothing could reverse those. Or so they had thought. 

As much as he hated to admit it she was right, Jaskier was feeling a little proud. After all, it wasn’t every day you had concrete proof that being with you had changed a supposedly ageless being irreversibly. 

Of course Geralt didn't look so delighted. In fact, he looked decidedly ill for a man that who'd found out he _hadn’t_ been cursed. Jaskier thought that was rather good news. As much as he loved the man he was not prepared to fight him until dawn. Now fucking on the other hand…

Well, even that was probably unfamiliar territory under the circumstances, but he was fairly certain he could rise to the challenge. It was hard to imagine Geralt, who was usually so strictly in control of himself consumed by instinct, but he couldn’t say he didn’t find himself a bit intrigued.

Feeling fairly resolved in his decision to help he turned to give Geralt a reassuring glance only to find the man not meeting his gaze at all. The witcher’s pale features were fraught with tension, and though Jaskier had seen him take some of his potions before the meeting, he still looked strained.

“No curse. That's good news, isn’t it, Geralt?” His mate’s solemn features didn’t change, but he’d worked with less. “Hm. So, first Witcher -maybe ever- to have a rut, what do you suggest we do?” He doubted there was an established protocol, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“The same thing most bonded pairs do, I imagine. I know you’re well acquainted with the mechanics of such relations. I’ve been subject to the sound of your caterwauling the next room over often enough.”

The outrage must have been plain on his face, as the sorceress actually stifled laughter while he tried to think of a suitable rejoinder. The nerve of the woman! There were a lot of things to be said for him, but he had never ‘caterwauled’ a day in his life!

He was about to land a scathing riposte when he saw Geralt go nearly green. Jaskier would have thought it was the potions, but there was none of the bruising around his eyes that usually accompanied an overdose. He just looked nauseous, Jaskier would almost say frightened if he didn’t know any better.

Seeing the normally stable man like this tugged at something inside him. Before he knew it the bard was reaching forward to lay a gentle caress to Geralt’s extended knee. They made contact for a moment, and he saw the Geralt’s shoulders start to relax before the man abruptly recoiled, shoving his hand harshly away. The move startled Jaskier, his eyes wide as he took the appendage back to give the alpha his space even when the distance left him aching. 

He struggled not to show it, but the bard was rattled. He hadn’t had the witcher be so cold to him since they’d first met at the tavern in Posada, and even then that hadn’t lasted but a moment. The rejection hurt, leaving that soft omega part of him wounded and confused. Jaskier’s gaze snapped up to Geralt, searching for an explanation only to find the witcher’s eyes firmly averted.

“ _We_ aren't doing anything. I'll find a secure location and lock myself up. It can’t last more than a week, I’ve survived worse accommodations.” Geralt’s tone was just as frigid as the gaze he set upon the little stone that had turned color to indicate his impending rut. 

The words had the omega’slips twisted in a frown. Geralt planned to spend it alone? His first rut, possibly ever, and he thought it was a good idea to have it unaccompanied? “Do you have any idea what a rut is like? Or how bad it can be on your own when you’re mated? Your body knows that we’re bonded, Geralt. That’s obvious enough by the rut happening in the first place. I can’t just leave you alone to suffer, you'll tear yourself apart!” Just the thought made a sick feeling linger in Jaskier’s belly. Even if Geralt was being an ass to him right now, he couldn’t imagine leaving his mate like that in his time of need.

“You can and you will. There is no way of knowing what a rut might be like for a witcher, and I have no plan to risk you being there. I’ll do it on my own and you will stay at the Inn, I’m sure Yen can watch you in the meantime.”

Jaskier couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was like talking to a totally different person. This was not the man that had seen him through his heat, or the one that had taken him to bed a week past. This was a cold, alien alpha that seemed to want nothing to do with him. 

It didn’t make sense. 

The bard only noticed his hands were shaking when he caught himself fiddling with the braiding on his coat, cursing himself for the weakness. “And I just have no say in this? Your omega, who you bonded, does not get to decide for himself whether or not he wants to take the risk with you?”

“No.” There was a terrible finality to the words, and for the first time in a while Jaskier felt utterly unwelcome to approach. 

He knew Geralt hated being out of control, but he still wouldn’t have expected the alpha to be so utterly against it. Even if it wasn’t something he’d dealt with before, a rut cycle was normal enough for every other alpha. It was a difficult time, to be sure, but Geralt wasn’t alone. He had Jaskier. Or at least he’d thought that Geralt knew that.

His instincts didn’t understand any of this. Even when he knew that he’d done nothing wrong he couldn’t help feeling like a ‘bad omega,’ like his alpha’s rejection was somehow a product of his failure. It was a dreadful feeling, and before he knew it Jaskier was furiously wiping at his eyes, hating the tears that burned his eyes and betrayed how deeply the rejection wounded him.

He knew it wasn’t his fault. All this was Geralt’s damnedable stubbornness and his awful inability to let the bard closer. No matter how close they came, the witcher still refused to see him like an equal. He might care for him, but at times like this it was very clear that Geralt still thought of Jaskier as little more than babe in the woods, too naïve to make his own decisions. It was insulting, to say the least, but more than that it hurt because the man wouldn’t even give him the chance to prove himself a worthy companion. Jaskier’s help was beneath him, and he would rather rave like a beast alone in a cave than give the bard a chance to soothe his pain. 

“Well. If you’re so happy being alone then I will leave you to it. You'll have the room to yourself tonight, Geralt. I'm headed out.”

With that Jaskier forced himself to turn his back, ignoring the sour color of possessive need and anxiety that made the alpha’s scent harsh in his nose as he went to gather his things. He kept his gaze averted, hating that he had to scrub at his eyes occasionally as he threw a few items into a rucksack. Though the witcher may have been trying not to look at him, he could certainly feel the sorceress’s greedy gaze eating it up, no doubt loving the bit of drama. 

But at the very least she didn’t intervene, even as he felt the witcher getting more agitated as he threw his lute over his shoulder. He didn’t know how long he would be, but it wouldn’t hurt to make some money along the way, since he hadn’t exactly taken his coin purse to their little meeting.

“Julian, wait, fuck—”

It was the first move the witcher had made to stop him, but it wasn’t an apology so Jaskier ignored it, closing the door firmly behind him. He couldn’t let himself be swayed by whatever paltry showing of remorse the witcher might manage to dredge up. He had hurt him, more than Jaskier wanted to admit, and he had no plans to just come crawling back because the man might have finally realized he’d made a mistake. Just as he had, Geralt would have to learn that there were consequences to his actions.

***

“Well… you cocked that up rather nicely.”

Geralt sat with his head in his hands, feeling his instincts rage at him for letting his mate walk out the door. “Not now, Yen.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Now seems a fine time to reflect on your failures. You went from a fortunate man looking at a week straight of spirited sexual delights to insensitive beast in less than three minutes. That has to be a record even for you.”

As much as he wanted to snap at her, it was impossible to deny the sinking feeling in his stomach that accompanied the dawning realization that he had royally fucked up. He had made Jaskier cry. Even now the scent of omega hurt left a stagnant sadness in the air. He hated it, almost as much as he hated himself for being the cause.

He’d done it for the bard’s own good, but he still felt like a beast turning him away. He had never seen the cheerful brunette look so betrayed as when he pushed him away, but he didn’t want to let himself fall into the lure of letting nature take its course. Despite the aching of his alpha instincts, there was nothing natural about a witcher going into rut.

All witchers were infertile. Sterile creatures didn’t need a mating cycle, it didn’t make sense. They underwent the Trial of the Grasses during presentation, when their bodies were at their most malleable. What would have been that first false heat or rut was overwhelmed by the potions pumped into their veins. Their bodies were too busy breaking, burning and building all over again to have any semblance of sexuality in that moment of change. They either died or were forever altered, too mutated to respond to the changing seasons like other creatures did. 

Though many might think they would lament the loss, Geralt had always thought it was for the best. The witcher had seen human alphas go into rut; how sensible enough men became ravening beasts under the influence of their season. It was an ugly sight, and he had put down more than a few men that had become monsters in such a state. 

But a witcher mad with rut… that would be a deadly creature indeed; a berserker with inhuman reflexes determined to defend their territory, to fuck and kill until they collapsed from exhaustion. No one could control that, no matter how well intentioned, and he wasn’t going to risk Jaskier on the off chance that a mate was panacea enough to sate the need.

Finely buffed nails tapped on the small table between them, drawing his attention once more to the exasperated looking sorceress before him. “I can see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of yours, Geralt, and I think you’re working yourself up for nothing.” 

A deep sigh strained the tight bodice of her elegant dress, but she didn’t seem to mind, too busy giving him a fond but judging gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand. You and I have seen ugly things, but don’t let that make you think that just because others have fallen to their instincts means that you will as a matter of course. Trust that I have no intention of stroking your ego when I say that even in the depths of rut I don’t believe that you would hurt him.”

Geralt wanted to believe that, but that was the very reason he couldn’t trust himself. Every part of him was aching at the moment for the omega, but he couldn’t know how much of that was himself and how much was the result of his oncoming rut. If he gave in to its desires there was no telling when the next concession would come, what base urge he might submit to next. No witcher had ever had a cycle, and even if he liked to believe that he was well acquainted with restraint, there was still the chance for his will to fail at a crucial instant. There were many risks in life that were unavoidable, but this wasn’t one of them. Going it alone was the only way to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone.

He just wished Jaskier could see his feelings for what they were; a need to protect the omega, to keep him safe from the witcher’s more bestial nature. No matter the cost. “You can’t be certain of that.”

“Chaos preserve… you can be so bloody dense.” The sorceress threw her hands up in the air, standing up from the table to pace as if she was too frustrated to be still any longer. “Then there are potions, spells that can make you safe! You act like everything you do must be an act of your own indomitable will! If you would rely on someone else for once then there wouldn’t be a problem. You don’t have to do this alone, and it’s only being a crotchety old goat that makes you think you should.”

She left no room for argument, a sweep of her hand leaving Geralt silent just as he tried to protest. The press of magic sat poorly on him in pre-rut, but there was little he could do but wait for her to release it, which she likely wouldn’t do until she had said her piece. 

After a good bit of profanity in the Elder tongue Yennefer finally collapsed back into her chair, looking quite pointedly at the door the bard had exited through. The same door the witcher was trying not to think about too hard. “You don’t want to lose him, Geralt. That bard might be a brat and a dandy, but he is hopelessly in love with you. No one would compose such songs, sing your praises, or endure your rotten moods if they weren’t.”

He knew that well enough already. It was plenty clear how the bard felt about him in every line of his face, in the lingering appreciation as he let the omega help him bathe, or the desperate relief every time he returned from a monster hunt unharmed. He knew he would be worse than a fool to push him away, but it was hard to break the instinct to protect him. 

The bard trusted him, and despite how he treasured that trust he found it hard not to think it was misguided. Geralt hadn’t always done good in his life. He had made mistakes; costly ones, and he wasn’t ready to have another be at his bonded omega’s expense.

But Jaskier didn’t see that. He just saw the witcher pushing him away; disregarding him. Geralt had wanted to spare him pain, but he had only hurt him in the process.

Even though every inch of his body vibrated with the desire to run after Jaskier, to demand he came back, he settled back into the chair. He had done the bard wrong and he didn’t deserve to go demanding his forgiveness now, not until he had some way to make it up to him.

Sometimes he forgot in the generally easy-going manner of their camaraderie that people and their emotions could be hard to deal with. He may not be as bereft as many witchers, but he still struggled dealing with relationships. Jaskier had fit in into his life so naturally that he rarely noticed how the man so well accommodated him. He was a good omega, and likely deserved better than an irritable old Witcher, but Jaskier didn’t want that.

If Geralt wanted to keep him he would have to resist his instinctive desire to smother Jaskier with his protection. Strange as it seemed, the bard wanted to help him, no matter the risk. And though Geralt would have been more than willing to suffer the rut screaming himself hoarse in a cave for days, it seemed that wouldn’t be an option, not if he wanted to fix this and get his damn barker back. 

“Fine. You mentioned spells?”

***

Jaskier was three cups in at the local inn and feeling terribly sorry for himself.

He’d started drinking after his third and most maudlin rendition of “Toss a Coin to your Witcher" was booed off stage. He must have looked a sight to have the whores not fishing hanging off him as they did. That, and he may have nearly burst into tears when someone had asked him when his witcher was coming to pick him up.

Not long ago he would have been over the moon to have his face buried in the perfumed bosom of a beautiful woman while three others cooed around him, but at the moment all he could think about was that stubborn Witcher and how he wished the man was here to be jealous.

At the very least the comforting scent of fellow omegas was helping to calm his nerves. He let the sturdy whore who had first pulled him over stroke his hair as he tried to stifle his sniffles. Weepy bards made for exceptionally depressing company and he was sure it wasn’t doing anything for the tavern’s side business. It was just hard to shake his melancholy.

After all the two had been through Geralt still refused to trust him. He may not be a mage, brute or brawler, but he contributed in his own way. Just because he was no fighter didn’t mean that he was to be dismissed.

For Geralt to think that something so integral to the alpha wasn’t his business… and particularly after the two of them had shared his heat. Everyone knew that witchers were infertile, so he’d rather given up on the idea of helping Geralt through a rut, but when he’d found out that it was possible, that it was happening… that had changed things. 

But no, Geralt thought it didn’t involve him. He didn’t care what his _bonded mate_ had to say on such a matter. He was determined to be a proper asshole and ignore anything Jaskier had to say. It was typical of the man to think he knew better than the bard, but what really got to him was being once again pushed away by the monster hunter. 

And maybe he was being petty to stomp off, to not give Geralt a chance to further explain himself, but honestly this was a terribly familiar tale. He just didn’t see why he always had to do all the emotional labor in their relationship. 

Well, not this time. If Geralt wanted to be forgiven, if he wanted to make things right he would actually apologize. He owed Jaskier that much.

It was later into the evening and most of the patrons had retired while the bard had at last transitioned to water. He sang a few quiet lines in the relative stillness of the tavern, trying quite hard not to think of the void where his usual brooding audience would sit. The lute’s chord struck wrong, and quietly the bard cursed as he adjusted the tension, displeased at the clear evidence of his own mental preoccupation.

An awful clatter at the table beside him actually startled the bard, his bright blue gaze snapping to the ruggedly handsome visage that was both familiar and infuriating in equal parts. It hadn’t even been an entire day and already he’d missed that grumpy face. Damn his pining poet’s heart… he had to be strong. 

“Geralt. What are you doing here?”

“This is me…apologizing.” Geralt didn't look terribly contrite. He looked like he had indigestion.

Jaskier frowned, his gaze tracking downward to see that clatter at his table had apparently been Geralt throwing down a set of… handcuffs? The dark metal bracelets were modestly padded and heavy with runes, much more severe in appearance than their usual fair. While typically such things would be exceptionally relevant to his interests, he had no intention of playing any kinky games with a man that couldn’t admit he was wrong. “If you think considering how you’ve treated me that I'm in the mood to play—”

“They’re not for you… they’re for me.”

“For you?” Now that _was_ different. Jaskier could admit he was intrigued despite himself, but no… he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

“If you really want to see me through my rut, I'll let you.”

Jaskier blinked twice in rapid succession, his brows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “You’ll let me? Oh, what an honor, oh Geralt the great and powerful witcher.”

“Come on, Jaskier, give me a break. I…” the witcher paused, looking terribly frustrated before he visibly took a moment to gather himself, “I'm trying, alright?”

Well, he was that. It was a rare day indeed that the White Wolf of Rivia came pawing at his door, tail tucked between his legs. But he knew he could do better. He’d yet to hear an apology, odd bondage implements aside. “I'm sure you’re feeling very magnanimous right now, Geralt, to come to me like my company is anything less than a privilege… but I’ve also yet to hear you say the magic words.”

The handsome idiot just frowned at him for a moment, confusion painted all over his striking features. “…please?”

“That’s nice too, but I meant ‘sorry,’ Geralt. You’ve yet to apologize for treating me like a child. I'm not your ward, no matter what games we play. If we’re going to be in a bonded partnership I want to know you think of me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.” The bitter tang of remorse tinted the Witcher’s scent like wilted flowers, but he had to stand his ground. If he let Geralt get away with this the man would always try and use his emotional constipation as an excuse.

“I… I’m sorry, Julian.” 

Those golden pupils were wide and too vulnerable looking for such a large, scary man. Still, the bard refused to let himself be so easily swayed, kitten eyes or no. “And what are you apologizing for, Geralt?”

“Dammit, Jaskier…” the monster slayer groaned, looking up to the sky, no doubt for a deliverance that would never come. It wasn’t some unseen force that the witcher should be looking to, because it was Jaskier the man had offended, and it was him he would be apologizing to if he didn’t want to sleep alone tonight. “I’m sorry for saying my rut wasn’t your business.”

“It’s not that, Geralt and you know it. If you truly wanted to spend your rut on your own that was one thing, I’m upset with you because you wanted to do it because you thought that I didn’t deserve to decide for myself if I was comfortable helping you through it.”

“Fuck, I know. I’m sorry for treating you like a child, alright? You know I’m not used to relying on anyone else, and I certainly never wanted anyone relying on me. But we’re bonded now, and yes, you deserve to have a say in whether you want to see me through it or not. I wanted to keep you safe, but I realize that may have come off as… presumptuous.”

“It was incredibly infantilizing and insulting, but yes you get the idea.” Jaskier was finally looking fully at the large man verbally prostrated before him, so clearly uncomfortable in a position of humility. It wasn’t that Geralt was an exceptionally arrogant man, but he was well aware of his own talents and abilities, and was not used to being so entirely at a disadvantage. This wasn’t hunting beasts or saving kingdoms, this was just the more fragile politics between two people, and he was very unaccustomed to navigating it.

He knew he should take a hard line with him, make the monster hunter really grovel for his forgiveness, but Jaskier couldn’t help it. He had an awful weakness for the large man seeming so out of his depth. Seeing him now it was easier to feel like the man was truly sorry. 

He never really thought that Geralt meant to hurt him, even when he snapped at him or shied under his touch. The man was just not used to regular handling like an animal that had been poorly socialized. He could be lovely and doting when he wanted to be, and it was easy to forget sometimes that all of this was rather new to him. 

The White Wolf might have fucked almost every sorceress, whore, and the occasional humanoid monster, but he was not used to long term relations, that was for certain. “Fine. I accept your apology, Geralt. But I don’t want you to make a habit of this, alright? We’re bonded now, you’re not alone and neither am I.”

For his part the witcher just looked relieved. It actually gave Jaskier a bit of a shock when the pale haired man reached for his hand to briskly rub their wrists together, transferring his scent onto the shocked omega. Their pheromones blended, and all at once some of the tension dissipated in the air. The headache he hadn’t known was burgeoning tapered off, and even still somewhat perturbed with the man, he still felt those feelings overlaid by a terrible fondness. 

“Alright… so what’s this about shackles then you perverted old man?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order almost 9k of smut? No? Too bad, it's what you're getting.

Geralt hoped he was full up on groveling for at least another decade after this. After the mess with Jaskier he had to bargain at no small cost with Yen for the supplies to make sure that if he was going to share his rut with the human omega that he could do in a way that was safe for both of them. What they’d come up with wasn’t the most elegant solution, but he was fairly certain it would work.

Spelled shackles that were strong enough to hold a Witcher half feral, potions that would weaken him and keep him passive enough not to lash out, and perhaps his least favorite little accessory: a muzzle that would keep him from trying to bite his chosen omega. The sorceress had suggested the last with a particular glee. 

As much as he wanted to write it off as bullshit solely meant to mock him, he knew that even during normal sex the instinct to mark his partner was strong. What had clued them in to this whole mess in the first place was Geralt’s escalating aggression.

On their last contract a silk trader had made the mistake of being a bit too friendly with the bard, suggesting that they could possibly barter off the books for a few of his wares since Jaskier had an affinity for fine clothes. He hadn’t even really been conscious of it. One moment he was watching the trader run his hands down the sleeve of Jaskier’s pretty coat, and the next he had the man pinned against the side of the caravan, his teeth bared as he fought the impulse to rip his throat out.

Jaskier had been plastered to his back immediately, fine fingers stroking his heaving chest while the omega scented him gently. He struggled to hear the bard’s whispered assurances past the white noise that filled his mind as he looked on this trader that had suddenly become a threat to their bond. 

In his right mind he knew that Jaskier didn’t want the man, but it still took a long time before he could convince his alpha nature of that fact. The sharp stench of urine made the air fowl as the fetid little man cowered away, sniveling and crying like the inferior creature he was. The sight filled him with a kind of vicious satisfaction that was alien to him, but very familiar to the alpha competing for a mate. It was only the presence of his omega close to him, soft and purring that got him to finally pry his hands off the man’s bruised throat.

Needless to say, they didn’t get paid that day. It was a disturbing overreaction, but it might have passed if it had been an isolated incident. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. That may have been the worst of them, but his aggression had been worsening with the passing days. He never made a violent move towards Jaskier, but anyone near the bard proved fair game.

In the subsequent days Geralt had found himself even more easily irritated than usual. He was territorial and jealous every time he saw someone looking the bard’s way, which was to say allot since the omega was an entertainer.

His only solution on the road had been a cocktail of potions meant to calm his mind and focus his instincts. It helped to some degree, but it did little to distract him from his obsession with keeping the bard safe. He’d already taken a potion to keep him calm and focused when they’d gone to see the sorceress about the issue, assuming Geralt had been cursed. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it could be a rut. Now it seemed obvious. Though many would have seen it as a relief for it to be something so ‘normal,’ Geralt was less certain.

Witchers weren’t supposed to have ruts for good reason.

And so, despite the embarrassing array of devices involved, the witcher would not take any chances. His pride could suffer the indignity of a muzzle if it meant he wouldn’t have to worry about tearing his omega’s throat out.

At the very least Jaskier seemed to have forgiven him. 

In fact, the bard seemed to be having great fun with the whole thing now that he was to be included. He had dug eagerly through the bag full of accoutrements for his rut, grinning like a loon as he examined the muzzle and more elaborate bondage devices.

Geralt was just glad of the potions he’d taken before, because just the interest in Jaskier’s scent now was making his mouth water and his pants inappropriately tight even though he knew they had just made up. Even through the scent patches he was delectable, and it only became worse when the bard noticed his arousal and they fell into an amorous feedback loop. He had to force himself to look away, keeping well in mind the bard’s face stricken with distress to get his wayward cock to just behave itself for a moment. 

It didn’t help that his mind had fixated on the thought that this was the omega he would be spending his rut with, that in not too long he would be fucking him, that he had to keep him close so no one tried to take him away.

At the very least the bard seemed to bask in the attention, his mood now a stark contrast to the stricken sadness of earlier. He never wanted to make the singer feel like that again, not if he could help it.

They’d gone to bed that night and for once the Witcher couldn’t get close enough. It’s not that they usually slept far apart, since the bard was definitely a cuddler, but now he had the troubadour all but glued to him. 

He’d scented the sheets and the omega, but still felt on high alert, like at any moment someone might try and take his mate from him. Jaskier appeared amused and remarkably tolerant, probably enjoying it a little too much if he was honest. The witcher didn’t fail to spot the smug smiles and playful touches of the musician as he played, seeming a little saucier even than his usual performance. Geralt wanted to tell him to cut it out, that his control was already worn thin enough as it was, but it was hard to deny the minx when he seemed so fully pleased with himself. 

He was a little less delighted as Geralt insisted on following him when bard played at every one of the local venues. It went well enough until the audience got too friendly and the Witcher had to pull the brunette out before he did something he would learn to regret.

It was becoming clear that his rut would be upon him soon. Yen had said likely a week by her divining spells, but he was starting to think sooner. To minimize any collateral damage, he’d planned to have it well outside of town, and if the violent restlessness he was experiencing was any indication then better they left sooner than later.

It wasn’t the luxurious accommodations they’d had for Jaskier’s heat, but the ruined fort not far from here was acceptably defensible and still had adequate water and resources nearby. It had been guarded by a golem that he had put to rest not long ago, and he was reasonably certain that unlike Jaskier’s elven bathhouse, that it would still be empty. 

As much as he hated having to admit that it had gotten to him the two left that morning. Jaskier had earned a fair bit of coin for his performances now that he was in good spirits, and the Witcher had finally reached the edge of his tolerance concerning people touching his mate. 

He was particularly suspicious when as they packed the horses Yen came trotting up like some bloody bloodhound for trouble. He watched with dark suspicion as she whispered something in the bard’s ear, handing him something. The Witcher felt a growl building in his chest, but the bard just waved him off impatiently while he glared at them both from atop Roach.

“Oh hush, we’ll be on the road soon. I think I understand now why they eliminated ruts from witchers if it makes them such awful grumps.”

***

He knew it was terrible, as Geralt seemed awfully upset about it, but Jaskier found himself rather excited at the prospect of the witcher’s rut. The monster hunter had been restless and aggressive when anyone got near to Jaskier, but he’d also been affectionate and attentive in a way he never had been before. The witcher in his primal state offered Jaskier assurances he hadn’t known he needed. And though it was surprising, Jaskier wasn’t too proud to admit he basked in it a bit. 

Though he knew the intrusive press of suddenly relentless alpha instincts granted at his mate. Geralt was a very private man when he could get away with it; avoiding large crowds and boisterous company where he could. It no doubt made a bard an odd choice of company to some, but Jaskier did more than his fair share of fielding conversation and promotion for the witcher who was so often misunderstood. 

Not everyone had the patience for puzzling out such a riddle of a man but Jaskier, despite appearances, could be very patient when he had to be. That didn’t mean that he didn’t want to know more. To better understand the man that had lived for decades before he was even born.

And as much as he liked Geralt in control, he couldn't deny it was somewhat of a delectable thought to imagine him out of it. He had seen the Witcher appear as a beast before; full up on potions until his eyes went black and his skin held the terrible pallor of death, his taxed veins a spiderweb of black burning through his skin with poison. It was beautifully terrifying, but to imagine such a thing in a more intimate setting; the man snarling but supple beneath his touch… it was remarkably arresting.

The supplies they had taken with them were ample to say the least. Food, water, a few luxuries that Jaskier had insisted on. Geralt might be alright with fucking chained to a stone floor, but he was not.

If they were doing this, they were going to do it right. Who knows if an opportunity like this would come around again? And so yes, Jaskier was going to take advantage while he could.

He had a handsome man and a bag full of restraints. Jaskier was more than set to have a good time.

They arrived at the old fort a little before dusk. Though they’d set up Roach and Jaskier’s borrowed mare up in the abandoned stables a boy was set to check up on the horses after they were set up. It had taken a bit of doing, but they’d found an omega stable hand that had been willing to watch them for the right coin. Jaskier had to assure them that the witcher would be otherwise occupied, but they couldn’t risk having an alpha or beta around that Geralt might take issue with on his temporary ‘territory.’

Geralt had looked in great pain by the time they’d set the horses up with food and water and ventured into the fort. It still seemed to still be abandoned like they’d hoped, not that he envied any beast that might have tried to make its nest there as the Witcher set off to make sure that the place was secure.

Jaskier largely left him to it. Alphas in rut were driven to protect and defend their territory, so no doubt the he would be a while clearing all the rooms again before he reactivated the wards. The defensible nature of the fort was much of the reason they'd chosen the location in the first place. The easier it was to keep them both in and others out, the smoother things were likely to go.

In the meantime, Jaskier set up their food supplies under the little readymade preservation spell that Yennefer had provided. It wasn’t sexy, but it would keep the fruit, bread and meat fresh and pest free while they spent the week fucking like beasts.

That done, Jaskier set to organizing their accommodations. Though he knew Geralt had presumed they’d do things in the dungeon, the bard decided to take a closer look at their options. He’d gone along for the little adventure not too long ago, and he was certain the fort had somewhere nicer than a dungeon to set up for a rut.

As it turned out Jaskier was right. The military and militias were full to bursting with alphas, so it was inevitable that a fort with adjoining barracks would have just what they needed: a rut room. Since witchers were infertile it was no surprise Geralt would not have thought of it, but Jaskier had been to enough whorehouse heat rooms to know that certain places were bound to have accommodations.

It wasn’t the most luxurious space but there was a bed; cold iron and bolted to the floor with spaces shackles. There were all also a few of the little comforts of home such as an end table and washbasin, both naturally bolted down as well.

Jaskier couldn’t say he’d have tolerated such a place for his heat, but alphas had different needs. Mostly it was about keeping the damage to a minimum. At least there was a mattress, along with a place to store their… supplies. The rut room also had the distinct benefit of not smelling like old blood and suffering, something that the dungeon certainly couldn’t say for itself.

Yes, it would do. With his handsome monster hunting companion otherwise occupied Jaskier busied himself with preparing the room. It was odd, but even as an omega the bard probably knew more about what Geralt would need for his rut than the man himself. It was a heady feeling, being the one taking care of things for once. 

He laid out fine sheets and tucked them in to cover the ratty old mattress. They were more aesthetically pleasing of course, but more importantly the linens were thick with his own omega scent and served to mostly cover the remaining odor of alpha that might linger in the room. He was sure with senses like the mutant’s he’d still pick up a bit, but hopefully his presence, along with the other scented items in the room might convince the witcher’s alpha that what rivals he had were all eliminated.

With a little bit of clever scavenging the bard was also able to come up with more than a few furs and pillows he could stack about to make the bed look a bit more hospitable. He’d made quite the find in a forgotten linen closet, and he’d dare say it was almost comfortable.

Now, for the fun part… Jaskier couldn’t help the delighted little tune he sang as he ran the chain that linked the shackles through the rings welded to the bedframe for just such a purpose. He kept it on the short setting that would have his delicious mutant companion extended out, utterly open to his pleasure, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t eager to try out the other positions it might offer. 

Despite their friendly animosity in the past, he fully believed Yennefer as she extolled the virtues of the devices. The sorceress might be a schemer, but as much as she liked ribbing Jaskier, he knew she found a greater delight at games played at the wither’s expense. So yes, he trusted that they would work as advertised.

The matching ankle cuffs also had to be attached, and Jaskier had a fine time getting those ready, mind already full with fantasies of the fun that would be had. 

He knew that he should be more concerned, after all he was but a human omega and he was going to try and ride out a rut with a witcher that had taken down beasts of every fang and claw. It should have been terrifying to know that such a man would for once be truly lacking in control, that there would be little between him and total ruination but a set of magic bracelets and the spellwork of a mercurial sorceress, but he wasn’t. At least not entirely.

Sure, there was the buzz of anxiety running down his spine, but more than that there was an eagerness. Arousal made his knees just a little weak as he thought about what was to come, and wetness stained his second-best pair of breeches. Perhaps it was because that on a fundamental level he believed Geralt was good. He could be coarse, stubborn, and any number of unpleasant things but all that was merely incidental. As a man, as an alpha, Geralt of Rivia was worthy of trust, whether he believed it himself or not.

As uncertain as it the witcher might have been about this turn of events, Jaskier was determined to make this rut a good experience for the both of them.

With everything set up, Jaskier laid down upon the pile of fine sheets and furs that he had tucked over the bed, letting himself fantasize for a moment. It was easy enough to let his mind roam like this, laid out and idly picturing his witcher in a similar position. Jaskier turned his face into the small pillow he was propped upon. The small comfort belonged to Geralt, one that Jaskier had insisted on as a gift since he was tired of the man using a bedroll or his arm for the same purpose. A pillow they could share, and share they did. Their scents were mingled deeply, and the aroma of it could often lull him to sleep even in the most perilous of situations.

Jaskier didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but he woke to the scent of alpha rut filling the room like smoke from an errant bonfire. He groaned, hands tight and twisting in the sheets as he felt himself getting wet before he even had the presence of mind to understand why. 

“Geralt?” A low grunt was all that followed in response. The bard frowned into the covers, finally lifting his head enough to squint into the light only to startle at the sight that greeted him.

The witcher stood totally still in the doorway, nude save for a scrap of draped cloth that did little for his modesty. There was little it could do with the man so rampantly erect behind the fabric. He must have taken a bath because he was still damp, the scent of horses and leather all washed away to leave nothing but ravenous alpha desire.

That finely sculpted form stood out pale as death against the stone, while his eyes were dark enough to swallow stars. Jaskier could spot the telling strain of witcher’s potions making his veins look bruised where the skin was thin. They were a necessary evil, but it could still be alarming to see the man like this; all white skin and hungry eyes like some erotic wraith. 

“Fuck Geralt, you startled me,” the poet groaned, sitting up a bit and feeling the intensity of the alpha’s regard follow him all the while. 

The witcher wasn’t moving. He just watched Jaskier, a low growl beginning to resonate within the small room. Well, that didn’t look terribly good. The bard sighed before he crawled to the edge of the mattress and the rumbling immediately got louder. Jaskier just rolled his eyes at the alpha’s dramatics. “Alright, are you with me, Geralt? I’ll be honest, love, you’re not looking well.”

After a long period of silence there was a slow blink, and Jaskier watched the witcher come back to himself slowly. “I….yes. I’m with you.”

His voice was garbled, like shaping words was suddenly much more difficult, but at least he looked slightly less ready to pounce if Jaskier so much as made the wrong move. “Good, that’s good to hear. With the potions you’re damn hard to read. Is it happening now, or do you think you have time to eat?”

“I’ve eaten already.”

Well, that was good, as Geralt didn’t seem of a mind to eat. Food, at least. “Alright then, looks like it’s time now. Do you think you can get to the bed for me, Alpha? I’d love to enjoy you, but first I have to know you’re safe.”

Jaskier stood up from the mattress, moving very slow under the watchful gaze of the half-feral witcher. He knew he had all of Geralt’s attention, but he was glad the man was still sane enough to hear him. It was a careful dance between them as Jaskier waited while the white-haired alpha paced like the wolf that was his namesake, growling in a visible battle with his instincts before he finally seemed to force himself to settle on the bed.

The bard wanted to cheer at the success but held himself back just in case the sudden movement proved to trigger the man. Instead Jaskier made his careful way to his tense lover, grinning softly as he came up onto the bed, so very pleased at the way the alpha instinctively made room for him. He sat himself astride the White Wolf’s narrow hips, and felt strong hands settle on his own.

“I’ve got to get you secured now, Alpha. It’s almost time, but you have to be good for me now, alright? You want to please me, don’t you?” the troubadour crooned, enjoying the heady power of having such a beast obedient beneath him. 

His handsome monster slayer didn’t reply, just watching him with those fathomless eyes while Jaskier stroked over his broad, scarred chest. He may not have said anything, but a rattling sort of croon he’d never heard before resonated from the man as Jaskier leaned closer, realizing much to his delight that the witcher was purring! It was soft, and obviously uncertain, but Jaskier couldn’t help how the smile split his face to hear it. He'd been a little worried how all those potions might interact with the rut, but if the man was calm enough to try and lure him that was a good sign.

Smile still stretching his lips, Jaskier was pleased with how the alpha didn’t resist at all as the bard eased his wrists above him, bringing the limbs just close enough that the cuffs snapped around them of their own accord. The cold metal clank and the hum of magic to follow made him start, but Geralt didn’t seem to mind it. He flexed only briefly before settling back again, dark gaze greedily affixed to the bard as he secured the bindings to his witcher’s ankles as well. There was a little more stirring after that, but he suspected it was mostly because he had to dismount the handsome beast to adjust the chains. 

“Oh hush, Geralt. Just one last thing. You know what we’re doing, I just need to get you ready and we can have all the fun we want.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” the words were clear enough that it startled a laugh out of the bard. The pretty brunette climbed eagerly back onto his alpha once the adjustments were done to sit astride him once more.

Geralt seemed surprisingly more relaxed bound like this, but that may just have been because of the safety net the bonds provided. Now that he was chained he didn’t have to worry that the rut might make him hurt Jaskier. So far he thought the Witcher was dealing with his first rut admirably, most certainly better than any alpha Jaskier had met, but he understood that Geralt needed this.

The restraints might have been for Geralt’s peace of mind, but Jaskier couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying them himself. It was a rare day he had his witcher so wholly available to him.

“Looks to me like I’m not the only one enjoying this,” Jaskier purred, plenty aware of the erection pressing against his ass beneath the thin fabric so precariously covering it. Leaving even a stitch on such a man was oversight on his part, but easily remedied with one with good tug. Without the cloth to cover it the witcher’s wet, ruddy cock that sprung up to slap against his clothed behind.

Melitele’s heaving bosom, Geralt was a sight like this. Jaskier had admired the witcher in a number of compromising positions, but this… this had to be his favorite. The witcher’s eyes were black with hunger while his white body was so tense that every muscle stood out in chiseled perfection. He was a statue brought to demonic life, full of perverse lusts and totally under Jaskier’s control.

He couldn’t help it, he groaned, still fully dressed as he rubbed himself back against the cock pressed so firmly against his silk-clad bottom. The bard could feel himself getting so very wet. In not too long his slick would soak his underthings, ruin his trousers. He would be a mess, all because of the powerful alpha beneath him just being there.

“Dammit, Jaskier. Don’t tease me,” the alpha hissed through bared teeth, but the rough demand only filled the brunette with an awful desire for mischief.

“Now would I do that, Geralt? Tease a big, strong alpha on the edge of rut?” A wicked smile played at Jaskier’s lips as he rubbed back and forth, enjoying the witcher’s impatient arousal beneath him. There was something terribly indulgent about getting to do things at his pace, while Geralt was the one forced to wait.

A rumbling growl rolled through the body beneath him when Jaskier reached back to feel the generous length of him. Gods, he could actually feel it throbbing against his palm, feel it the hips below him try to grind into it. He knew it well enough already, but sometimes it still took him aback how big the witcher felt in his hand. He could already imagine how the man would feel inside him.

Teasing him was awfully fun, but he knew it was terribly unkind when Geralt had been so good. It was his first rut ever and he wasn’t even yanking the chains. He still writhed subtly, like he couldn’t fully keep still against the omega grinding against his hips, but it was still rather impressive.

As a reward for his exceptional behavior Jaskier thought it wouldn’t do any harm to move things along. He spared the man a devil’s smile before he set to work on the buttons of his colorful doublet, watching the alpha’s greedy gaze follow his progress. Geralt could be a little stingy with his compliments, but after the bard caught the man staring just a few too many times he finally admitted that he liked the cobalt blue against his skin. It was darker than the bard’s usual fair, but he gathered that the witcher liked the contrast because his eyes seemed utterly riveted to the way it framed his pert pink nipples and the light fur on his chest. He had never been the hairless androgyne that so typified kind of male omegas spoken of in ancient ballads, but Geralt never seemed to have had a problem with it. The witcher had always loved running his hands over the bard’s chest and belly, stroking him like a cat before he occupied himself tormenting the omega’s sensitive nipples.

He felt that same fixation that the witcher demonstrated when he was toying with him now, but for once the man was utterly incapable of acting on his obvious lust. It was a heady feeling to be the object of such desire, and Jaskier was not above enjoying it. He took his time squirming astride the man with his shirt open like a freshly debauched whore, only reaching down to pull the laces on his trousers when the grumbling beneath him began to disturb his seat.

It took a little doing, but after some careful maneuvering Jaskier was able to strip completely without having to leave his spot astride the alpha. Geralt was really rumbling now, but to Jaskier’s marked delight he realized that it was a purr again. He felt the witcher devouring his nude form with his eyes and it only excited Jaskier more. The omega had never felt so vulnerable and powerful beneath that gaze. Here was this ageless witcher, conqueror of monster and man, and yet he lay here like a faithful hound, obedient and eager for his treat.

It was Geralt’s rut, and Jaskier was his omega, but still the man wanted implicitly to please him. Fuck, he had never been so hard before… Jaskier licked his lips as he became increasingly aware of how easily they slid against each other with the fragrant evidence of his arousal wet on his thighs. It didn’t help that the witcher was leaking too, that hard cock settling so wonderfully between his slippery cheeks as he pressed back into it.

“You know, Geralt… I think I like you like this…” he mused, one hand reaching back to wrap around the dick that so desperately wanted to bury itself inside him. It jumped against his palm, and Jaskier groaned as he rubbed a little closer, thumbing the head as he rubbed his slick all down the length of him. 

He wasn’t expecting the hard thrust up that almost unseated him, the bard shooting his mate a dirty look. The smile that met him through bared alpha fangs made Jaskier’s heartbeat faster even as he scolded Geralt with his eyes. “Behave alpha, or I may decide to entertain myself tonight.” Jaskier didn’t hesitate to wrap a hand around his own length, and he felt the alpha’s attention shift to it, shuddering at the way the witcher’s tongue ran over his teeth. He remembered the attentions of that mouth, the way the mutant’s nimble tongue would explore him, savoring the taste of him. Countless times he’d been left shaking, sobbing beneath the attentions of that attentive mouth, begging the witcher to just fuck him already. It was delicious, but he couldn’t let himself get distracted by past pleasures. Now he was the one in charge, and who knew when such an opportunity might arise again?

He was glad of the cuffs when the witcher started to writhe, the low rumble of his purr turning to a growl, as the alpha seemed to protest being denied. It made the large body vibrate between his thighs, which he will admit was quite… stimulating. One hand braced on that scarred chest, Jaskier gave himself a few luxurious pulls, a quiet whine slipping out as he fucked into his fist. Part of him wanted to keep going, to cover the monster hunter in his cum and slick until all the world would know he was his.

Maybe some other night when he was very good, when the witcher wasn’t in rut he might let him fuck him. Some alphas thought it was beneath them, but he doubted Geralt would be like that. Jaskier knew that Geralt enjoyed his pleasure, and he didn’t doubt he would enjoy seeing the omega fuck. He had always liked offering Jaskier a hand, or watching him fuck pillows or his fist. Though perhaps he might like to ride Jaskier, to sit astride him like the bard was now and watch Jaskier fall apart as he rode his pretty omega dick.

He must have gotten lost in the fantasy, because the cuffs rattling violently against the bedframe gave him a start, drawing the bard’s attention back to the alpha twisting in the chains. Geralt’s teeth were on display as he seemed caught in the grip of a divine agony, his cock still very hard and leaking against Jaskier’s ass. Despite the eager throb between his own legs Jaskier forced himself to take his hand away, knowing that perhaps he’d tormented the poor witcher too long. The room was thick with the scent of aroused omega, the perfume almost consuming the muskier aroma of alpha rut.

“Fuuuuck Jaskier, you little minx. I should have known you’d take advantage like the little brat you are,” the witcher groaned between his teeth, twisting just enough that Jaskier had to clutch him tight as the cock between his cheeks kissed at his hole. “You’re lucky I’m chained up, because I’d have you over my lap in an instant. You’d be shaking and crying, begging me to fuck you after I spanked this naughty bottom red. I’d come so hard inside you omega, knot you up until you were too full to do anything but warm my cock like a good omega.” The words were filthy, and Jaskier couldn’t even help the gush of slick that poured from him in response, his body instinctively preparing to be mounted. As much as he wanted to scold the man, to wrestle back the control he had been so enjoying before, all his omega could think about was getting that knot now. He wanted to be a good omega, wanted Geralt to say that he was proud of him, that he’d taken him so well even as he was trembling through the stretch of his knot.

Damn it all, but how was the man only vocal at the worst possible time? It was unfair. How was Jaskier supposed to resist him when he was like this? “This doesn’t mean you’re winning,” the brunette tried to grumble, but it was hard to sound disapproving when he was fumbling behind himself, breathless in anticipation of the the heavy length awaiting him. 

Jaskier was too impatient to do more than press a couple rough fingers inside himself, unsurprised to find himself already soft and ready for an alpha’s knot. Normally he might try to linger, give the witcher a show, but right now the bard was too eager for that. He just took a hold of the alpha cock behind him, shuddering when his unsteady hands had the head just teasing at his hole at his hole as first, his slick making such a mess that he had to force himself to still before he could guide the plump head to his aching ass. The bard stifled a whine as it breached him suddenly. Even soaked and ready it still felt big inside him. 

Geralt tried to thrust, but Jaskier was careful to lift his bottom up before he had a chance. A grumble issued in response, but it was remarkably rare that Jaskier was the one on top, and the bard planned to take full advantage of the novelty. He took his time working himself down on that familiar length, allowing himself to enjoy how the alpha’s thick cock forced its way deeper with each rise and fall of hips, how his tender hole ached at first as he tried to accommodate it. For a time all he could do was whine and shiver as it stretched him out, it rubbed against his walls as he fucked down on the fleshy bulb of the witcher’s still soft knot, just the sensation of it making a slew of distinctly omega noises rise in his throat. It teased his rim, a subtle swell that would soon tie them together, hold him tight and bully his prostate while he came on it.

It was tempting to just squeeze himself down on it, to milk the witcher until he bred him like a bitch. But no, he couldn’t get distracted. Jaskier forced himself to move, to ride that heavy cock, while he still could. Oh, and it was good. It hadn’t been but a week, but Jaskier had already missed the feel of it filling him up over and over again. It took him a moment, but quickly enough he found that spot, that perfect spot the witcher’s cock was so good at finding inside him. 

With that wonderful angle rediscovered Jaskier just let himself chase his pleasure, riding as fast and hard as he could before the alpha’s knot could tie him up. He eager omega whines were it drew from him were impossible to hold back as he felt himself getting so very close. He was riding the edge as he squirmed on the witcher’s cock, teasing himself with that nearing peak before he was quite violently thrust into orgasm. He hadn’t expected that just as he teased his prostate Geralt would buck hard against him, hitting him just right to have Jaskier coming around him, panting in breathless pleasure as he clenched on the thick length inside him.

Though the thrusts below him didn’t let up. Jaskier found himself clutching the scarred chest, his thighs locked tight around the narrow hips that bucked beneath him. He didn’t know how the alpha had gotten the leverage, but he still managed to fuck into the omega as he shuddered, too sensitive to scramble off his cock. It was only good fortune that Geralt was still tied up or he knew the witcher would have him under him, that he would have held the bard still as he used his aching ass like a fuck toy. As it was, Jaskier was still helpless to the second orgasm that came not long after, milked from him while he rocked on the heavy cock inside him. 

At first, he couldn’t dare to touch himself, but after his second climax he couldn’t help but fall prey to the scent of hungry alpha in the air. He was soft at first, but it didn’t take long for his dick to fill again when he was being fucked. He could feel his hole catching on the alpha’s thickening knot and knew soon enough that it would pop, holding him still to be bred. For now, he savored getting to fuck it, feeling hot and used in a way only his alpha could make him. “Geralt… fuck… alpha, please,” he groaned, suddenly losing track of just who was in charge here. A few desperate grinds more and he was crying out as suddenly the knot swelled and he was tied, short nails clawing at the witcher’s firm chest as he felt it pulsing, pressing on that good place as he was filled up with cum. The man may have been infertile, but someone really should have told his balls that for all they emptied themselves inside the omega’s tender passage, making him feel terribly full.

It was harder tied, but still Jaskier managed to settle back a bit, his hands resting on the witcher’s thighs as he tried to just breathe as the constant pressure on his prostate milked the occasional spurt from his exhausted cock. It could be some minutes before it went down, but the first tie was usually the shortest. Hopefully this would take the edge off, because after that, and considering the burn in his thighs Jaskier was more than ready to let the witcher do a bit more of the work.

Geralt was quiet in the interim, but for the resonant sound of his purr starting up again. He seemed to be just trying to process it as well, but it was after all his first knot in rut. Jaskier didn’t doubt that it felt good, not if the bliss so clearly visible on the witcher’s face was any indication. He half wanted to tease the man in his obvious enjoyment, but even Jaskier didn’t have the heart when the alpha felt so very pleased below him, his first orgasm obviously taking some of the edge off the pressure of his cycle.

It wasn’t until the knot finally went down that the omega disturbed their quiet moment. Without the extra pressure filling him up the position was less comfortable, though when the bard lifted up he found his cheeks burning with heat as slick and cum started to run down his thighs. He grimaced, but wasn’t exactly surprised after a fuck like that. “Well thank you, Geralt. I’m an awful mess now.”

A chuckle between his thighs had the bard’s blue eyes darting up. “You’ll be much more than that when I’m free again, Jaskier.”

The bard sat up straight again, delighted despite himself at the promise in the alpha’s tone. “Oh, really? And just what do you want to do to me when you’re free, alpha?”

“I’m going to mark every inch of you, Jaskier, so everyone knows you’re mine. When I’m done you’ll just be a groaning ruin soaked in my cum.”

It was filthy, disgusting, and for some reason the bard found it painfully hot. Swallowing hard against the desire managing to stir him once again, Jaskier scrambled to find the bag with their toys again. He wanted another fuck, and it appeared so did Geralt. Though after the last round Jaskier’s legs were tired, and right about now he could do with a good mounting. Fortunately, they had just the tools to oblige.

“Alright, Geralt, if you’re feeling frisky, I think we’re going to have to keep you muzzled since I want to change positions.” Jaskier hoped his voice was steady as he came close again, shaky already as he looked again into those black eyes. For his part the witcher was remarkably passive as he affixed the muzzle on him, his lips twisted in a wry smile behind the dark metal bars.

The bard shivered under that gaze even as Geralt lay there obediently enough under his hand, not even trying to pounce or fight as Jaskier released his ankles and allowed the chain holding his wrists to lengthen so that the alpha could kneel on the bed. It was the perfect position to allow Jaskier to slip right under him, to raise his himself up and just let the witcher fuck him like a bitch in heat. 

His body was starting to flush again just thinking about it, and the witcher watched him all the while, dark eyes taking in his small adjustments with surprising patience. For a man that had been so worried that he might come unhinged Geralt seemed to be taking it remarkably well, though he did have the benefit of an omega at his side.

“Are you going to come get your fuck, or did you want to fiddle for a while longer?” the words were throaty, half a growl, but still it had the brunette trembling. He hadn’t expected that the witcher would gain this much control after just one orgasm. Most alphas that he’d been with took a good while coming back to themselves, some never did, hence their reputation as ravening beasts. But for Geralt it seemed just one good knot was enough to clear his head a bit.

“Maybe I want to fiddle,” Jaskier grumbled, even as slick rolled down his thigh. He still ached a bit, his hole tender still, but he found himself unable to resist the heady scent of impatient alpha. Geralt was often demanding, but there was just something ridiculously hot about this version of him just teetering on the edge of civility, feral and honest in his sole desire to fuck Jaskier brainless.

“No you don’t. You want to present, like the bratty little omega you are and have me fuck you back into obedience. And I’ll do that, I’ll breed you up just like you want if you just _come here_ …” It shouldn’t be convincing, he should have scoffed and denied the alpha just to show that he could, but that wasn’t what Jaskier was doing.

No, instead the bard was crawling onto the bed, a whine catching in his throat as he shivered under the alpha’s covetous gaze to raise his honeyed entrance up, startling when he felt the cool metal of the muzzle brush his cheeks. 

“Gods, I’d like to eat you out, Jaskier. You’re a mess back here, swollen from fucking and painted with cum.” Jaskier yelped as the muzzle pressed harder against him, a cool bar rubbing against the heat of him and pulling a simpering omega noise from his throat. “It’s only going to get worse. I’m going to ruin you, make it so no one could ever satisfy this slutty hole but me. My pretty bitch, with his pretty voice, you’ll want to compose sonnets to my cock inside you, you’ll have to because it's all you'll be able to think of.”

“Fuck, Geralt. If I’d known rut would make you so verbose I would have triggered it before—!”

The bard’s word were abruptly cut off by a shocked cry as he was mounted abruptly. He didn’t know when the witcher went from nuzzling his ass to being balls deep inside him, but he had no words left as they were fucked right out. All the slender poet could do was moan helplessly into the sheets as he was pounded from behind. He’d already been well used and that only seemed to make him more sensitive to the slide of the witcher’s cock working inside him. He tried to smother his cries as the alphas found that spot again, much abused as it was, but the beast had no mercy. 

He felt the muzzle pressed against his nape and knew that if the man had agency he would have sunk his teeth into that spot already. As it was the claim was plenty clear enough in the urgency, the vigor with which the witcher used him, his knot catching again and Jaskier knew they’d be tied again soon. 

Jaskier was a debauched mess, unable to do much more than whimper when the alpha knotted him again. It seemed bigger the second time, but maybe it was just because he was more sensitive now. Either way it kept him coming, his shaky hands twisted in the sheets as the larger man covered him. 

It was both too much and not enough, the intensity of it leaving the flighty bard too wrecked, too lost in the climax forced out of him to notice at first when callused hands were suddenly brushing his hips, or when knees spread wider between his own to let the knot settle deeper. Jaskier just swore quietly, a filthy mess beneath the coarse hand that pawed through the mess at his belly to rub the too sensitive swell of his cock. 

Only when Jaskier’s eyes were wet with tears as he squirmed in oversensitivity did the bard begin to realize that the covetous hand shouldn’t be there. “What in devil’s…?” The disoriented bard started to swear as he struggled to make sense of things in the haze of pheromones and pleasure. He was just starting to rise from his slump when he heard a distinctly feminine chuckle echoing from inside their discarded bag.

“Well, you two seem to be having a good time,” came a distinctly amused voice that he would recognize anywhere. Though why the hell the sorceress’ voice was coming from their bag had yet to be explained.

“The fuck—” The bard started, still trying to understand what was happening here.

“Sounds like a xenovox,” this from Geralt, still balls deep and rocking inside the bard who suddenly had to stifle his moans in sheer mortification. A xenovox… fuck. That damn box that Yennefer had given him on the way out. He’d just thought it was a salve, but damn it all he should have known.

“Quite. Now I’m sure you’re wondering ‘why do I suddenly have my hands full of terribly horny witcher?’”

“You read my—oh, fuck, godsdammit Geralt,” Jaskier hissed, frustrated that he couldn’t manage to focus with the damn beast pawing him up like this. It was hard enough to think knotted deep, but even more so when the alpha kept rubbing his nipples, his cock, really anything his greedy hands could manage to touch.

“Well, that dear bard, is because the cuffs were set to release when Geralt became—” the sorceress cleared her throat, probably choking on her own bloody amusement, “sensible enough to deal with you himself. Good show, by the way. I’m impressed it happened so soon.”

“Dammit Yen,” the witcher cursed, but that still didn’t seem to stop him from milking himself dry in the poor bard’s ass, keeping Jaskier still even as he squirmed. At least Geralt’s made it clear enough that he wasn’t privy to the damn witch’s schemes. Though he should have known no help from the sorceress wouldn’t come without some jest at their expense.

“Well, as delightful as it is listening to you fuck like rabbits, I should probably leave you to it. No need to thank me for the help easing the path for you two, I’m always happy to help for the right price. Don’t worry, they’ll reactivate if things get out of hand, but I doubt you’ll be needing them again. Anyway, I suppose I’ll leave you to it. Have fun boys!” A wicked chuckle was the last thing they heard before the enchantment seemed to go dead, leaving the two of them panting in the silence.

The witcher was still inside him, muzzle pressed against his throat as Jaskier trembled, not certain if he was more pissed off or aroused. His alpha seemed to sense this and even still trapped in the muzzle he rubbed their throats together, covering Jaskier in his comforting scent. “Julian, are you… are you still alright with this? If you’re not comfortable…”

Despite his instinctive outrage at being tricked by the woman, he found it hard for the outrage to last with Geralt pressed against him. If there was any sign the witcher was suitably to his senses, that calm, placating voice would be chief amongst them. He wasn’t worried about the binds. He had been willing to take the witcher though his rut without all of it. The chains had been for Geralt, so wouldn’t have to worry about hurting him, but if he was feeling in control again then he supposed the they weren’t needed any longer. He may have been a little embarrassed, but he was more than ready to go again.

“I’m fine, Alpha. Now come on, I don’t think you’ve bred me quite yet.”

That seemed all the assurance Geralt needed, since before he knew it Jaskier was on his back with the witcher settled between his legs once more. He barely had time think before the alpha was inside him again, his dark eyes locked with Jaskier’s blue while the omega managed a rattling croon, making it obvious enough that he was ready for him. 

It was a marathon from there, interrupted only by the occasional break to eat. At the very least the preservation spell on the food had held up. Jaskier was lounged at the moment on the witcher’s heaving chest, nibbling idly at an apple as he contemplated the tricky little cuffs. “I don’t know why I can’t learn, of course she’d trick us. When does she not?”

He felt more than heard Geralt grunt beneath him, the alpha still running covetous hands up and down his form even as they tried to eat. He was significantly more relaxed, but the clinginess seemed to be a lingering symptom of the rut, well that and the ravenous desire for sex. “Why do we trust her? We shouldn’t trust her.”

“Mm hm.”

“Are you agreeing with me? Wait, or are you just nodding at anything I say? Damn it, Geralt. We were made a fool!”

“And that’s very upsetting Jaskier, but right now I'm rather focused on only a couple things: finishing this food and having sex with my omega.”

Jaskier wanted to complain, to curse him for a simple brute that didn’t understand the gravity of their situation, but realistically as he felt the cock he’d been settled on start to stir once more he realized he could be doing any number of better things, getting fucked being chief amongst them. “We’re still talking about this later, Geralt, but for now I suppose we’ll focus on the problem at hand.”

The bard then had little to say but desperate, wordless entreaties as the feral alpha had his way with him again. The witcher certainly felt more in control now, because he seemed all too happy to bend his omega any way he wanted, to fuck into him until he wasn’t sure if he wanted to crawl away or beg for more.

Their last round of the evening left the two of them a wet, exhausted mess, but finally the rut seemed to be cooling down, at least for the next hour or two before the next wave hit. They were snuggling in the aftermath again, the bard very much enjoying the closeness after a good knotting.

The bard felt rung out but remarkably pleased with himself after he’d kept up with the hours of vigorous rut sex. Perhaps there was something more to mating with a witcher…? Even during his own cycle he had rarely recovered so quickly. It got him to thinking as he rested against the monster hunter’s broad chest, stroking the fine hairs on the back of the strong forearms wrapped around him. “You know, Geralt. I heard there are potions that can trigger a heat, what do think about syncing up? That could be fun.”

“No.” Well, he didn’t even think about it!

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud. Imagine it… me a vision of earthly desire, and you a ravenous beast set upon me. The two of us fucking like animals, consumed by—”

“It’s a terrible idea, Bard.”

Jaskier was quiet for a moment, his lips curling unseen against the covers while he wiggled back against the alpha holding him. “I'll let you think about it.”


End file.
